Bury in Haste Read Online Free Page A

day’s work, and drunk a cup of tea? Perhaps. But why had he then gone off and left his bike behind, not to mention Emily?
    For the moment there was nothing more to be done, but Deepbriar felt a swelling excitement as he set off towards Quinn’s Farm. He reached a sharp bend where the road turned through more than ninety degrees, following the edge of one of Quinn’s fields, and he slowed down a little, recalling the previous evening’s encounter with Bronc. The tramp had been coming from Quinn’s farm, just after dark. And this was where he’d claimed that a ‘gurt black machine’ with no lights showing, had knocked him into the ditch. Could it have been on its way to or from Wriggle’s yard?
    The tyre marks were there too, imprinted in the mud on the bend. Deepbriar propped his bicycle against the hedge out of the way, and bent over them, taking out his notebook again to be sure they were the same. Bronc hadn’t been imagining things. But then, the old man wasn’t stupid, merely suffering from the loss of memory that often comes with old age. With a little gentle prodding he might well produce more information about this car. A shame it was black; any other colour would have made it almost instantly recognisable.
    Deepbriar resumed his journey, cheerfully contemplating the next stage of his investigation. Then he remembered another man who went missing from the village, and his mood changed in an instant; Joe Spraggs’s disappearance was beginning to look altogether too much like the case of Ed Walkingham.
    A man of independent means, Walkingham had lived in Mill House, a large and isolated dwelling on the edge of Minecliff. Three years ago he had disappeared from his home in the middle of the night; the front door had been found standing wide open, and a valuable collection of silver was gone from a cabinet in the living room. Mrs Walkingham had reported the crime, tearfully insistent that her husband must have discovered burglars and been spirited away by them. Then, as in this case, there had been evidence of a vehicle coming and going.
    Deepbriar had summoned Sergeant Hubbard, fearing the worst; kidnapping perhaps, or even murder. Coming to the scene, the sergeant had duly called in the CID. What followed became the biggest manhunt Falbrough had ever known, with reports of sightings of the missing man coming in from as many as fifty miles away.
    When Ed had finally been located, alive and well in a bed and breakfast establishment overlooking the beach at Brighton, it turned out he’d run away with a barmaid from the Falbrough Arms. He’d sold the silver to a local antique dealer and was living off the proceeds. His ladylove, a bright girl who had learnt to drive during the War, had brought a car, purchased in secrecy the week before, to fetch him in the middle of the night.
    Members of the neighbouring constabularies, pulled in to help with the manhunt, never missed a chance to remind the Falbrough officers of the incident. Ever since then, ‘missing persons’ were dirty words as far as Sergeant Hubbard was concerned; he wasn’t going to be happy when Joe Spraggs’s disappearance was reported. Deepbriar allowed himself to descend into his customary gloom. By expecting the worst he found life rarely disappointed him.
     
    Deepbriar opened the gate at Quinn’s farm and pushed his bicycle into the yard at exactly ten forty, only slightly out of breath.
    Ferdy Quinn came dashing from the barn, a short stocky man with a florid complexion. Carrot coloured hair stuck out from under his cap and sprouted generously in front of his ears. He was followed by two of his men, old Bob, looking every one of his seventy years, and Alan the cowman, Bob’s grandson. Both men were watching their boss, like a pair of well-trained sheep dogs alert for the slightest signal from their master.
    The farmer greeted Deepbriar with a flood of words, none of which was a welcome. ‘About time! I was thinking of fetching my